


Bad Things

by tonystarking



Series: Madness [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: BDSM, Loud Sex, M/M, Sex Toys, Size Kink, Sticky, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Unrequited Love, valve and spike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6677290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystarking/pseuds/tonystarking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus is tied in several ways. His arms are bound behind his back, a line tied to the ceiling to keep him bent over. The leash leading to his collared neck drags on the ground, waiting for someone to pick up. And his mouth, of course, his beautiful mouth is gagged to keep the blasted Autobot from his incessant chatter.</p>
<p>Megatron settles in a chair to watch the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Things

**Author's Note:**

> I need to lie down and have a real long think about my life.

Megatron doesn’t make a show of checking the time even though he continually brings up his display until exactly a half hour has passed. Then, excusing himself, he returns his tablet to Ultra Magnus with the command to hold down the bridge until he returns.

He doesn’t specify how long he will be gone.

It’s more about how long he’s been out of his room and who remains there, waiting for him.

The door panel to his hab room is so thick he can’t hear anything through it. Which means, thankfully, no one can hear what goes on in his private chambers. He slips through the door quickly. Wait too long and someone outside might hear the moans.

Might hear Rodimus cry against the leather gag in his mouth that does little to quiet him.

Rodimus is tied in several ways. His arms are bound behind his back, a line tied to the ceiling to keep him bent over. The leash leading to his collared neck drags on the ground, waiting for someone to pick up. And his mouth, of course, his beautiful mouth is gagged to keep the blasted Autobot from his incessant chatter.

Rodimus notices Megatron has returned and makes a soft noise against the gag. He doesn’t straighten because he can’t--not comfortably. He wiggles his thighs, slick with lubricant, and he doesn’t have to speak for Megatron to know what he wants. Instead, Megatron watches, refusing to relieve the pressure. 

He settles in a chair to watch the show. Rodimus’ valve is filled with half a dozen toys, some thin, some rounded at the tip, one vibrating. Megatron’s display says that Rodimus has endured this for thirty-two minutes. Thirty-two minutes in which Megatron imagined Rodimus bucking and moaning without any relief whatsoever. 

Rodimus throws back his head and says something. The words are completely obscured. If Megatron was a gambler, he’d bet Rodimus is cursing him.

Thirty-three minutes now.

“Is there something you want?” Megatron asks. He keeps his voice steady, not wanting Rodimus to see just how undone he is. One of them needs to remain in control, and Rodimus, begging, pleading, willing Rodimus, is not that bot.

Rodimus nods over-dramatically, head bobbing up and down, asking without any words whatsoever. His legs tremble as he widens his stance and Megatron comes up behind him.

“Tell me what you want,” Megatron croons, his hand settling on Rodimus’ lower back, stroking down his aft, and stopping just short of his valve. He starts the stroke again from the top to the sound of Rodimus’ muffled curses.

“Then… more like this?” He selects one of the toys in Rodimus’ valve and pushes it farther in. Rodimus throws his head back and closes his eyes in ecstasy, his valve clenching as he grinds back against Megatron’s hand as far as his restraints will allow.

Megatron pumps the toy in and out, allows Rodimus to rock along with it, until his hand is coated with fluid. Then he releases the toy and reaches for Rodimus’ spike, wrapping it in his much larger hand and stroking it gently. Rodimus’ breathing comes faster.

“How long have you been waiting here, hovering just short of an overload?” Megatron asks, but he knows. He’s the one who tied him up, who slipped all the toys inside of Rodimus, before leaving to do some work. Leaving Rodimus’ tension to build and build while he imagined Rodimus’ desperation.

Being with him now, seeing just how needy Rodimus is, is intoxicating.

“You would beg me for it.” He steps closer behind Rodimus until the smaller bot can push himself against him, using his leg to shove the toys deeper into his valve. “You would give me everything just so you could debase yourself on my spike.” He strokes Rodimus’ spike as he speaks, while Rodimus grinds against him, seeking relief with the aid of the toys that, while numerous, are collectively not what Rodimus has grown accustomed to when taking Megatron. “You would do anything to have me.”

“Mmm… mmm… mmm…” Soft mewls of assent. Rodimus looks back at Megatron, begging just with his eyes. Megatron wonders how much longer Rodimus can last this way. Then again, pushing back his _own_ pleasure, he wonders how long _he_ can take this.

Though now he’s wound Rodimus enough. Time to let him tick.

Megatron removes the toys from Rodimus’ valve, slowly, one by one, dropping them into a pile of lubricant on the floor. He releases his aching spike but doesn’t allow himself to slip into Rodimus. Not yet. Instead he teases the Autobot, taking his leash and forcing him to look at his spike. Rodimus’ eyes devour it hungrily.

Rodimus may believe he wants it more than Megatron, but Megatron is simply a better actor.

He unties Rodimus’ hands, and Rodimus stumbles onto his feet, unaccustomed to the freedom. He stretches his arms, rolling them at the shoulders, before following the tug of his leash as Megatron reclines onto his berth and pulls Rodimus up with him. Rodimus stretches as he moves, less interested in his comfort than the built-up yearning. He positions himself on Megatron’s lap, but before he can pull Megatron’s spike into him, Megatron pulls him forward by the collar.

“Mmm!” Rodimus protests. Fluid spills from his empty valve, trickling down his thighs and dripping onto Megatron’s lap. Megatron presses his face to Rodimus neck, nibbling just above the collar. Rodimus presses into him as Megatron’s hand comes around and strokes his sensitive spoiler. And without Rodimus paying attention, Megatron removes the gag.

Complain about it as much as he wants, Megatron secretly likes how loud his partner is.

Rodimus gasps wildly, almost instantly speaking. “Megatron, please--I need this, or I’m going to--” He wiggles back down Megatron’s lap, and Megatron allows it, only holding limply on the leash. Rodimus guides himself over Megatron’s spike. 

“There’s nothing like you--nothing that can fill me like your spike--” Rodimus cuts off as Megatron’s spike teases at his valve rim.

“What are you waiting for?” Megatron asks.

Rodimus sits down, taking Megatron into him inch by agonizing inch. No matter how many times Megatron guides himself into Rodimus, he is always tight. As Rodimus bounces up and down, gasping and crying Megatron’s name, taking more and more with each thrust, Megatron leans back and allows Rodimus to do the work. As desperate as Rodimus was, his current enthusiasm is almost Megatron’s undoing. He tugs on the leash, forcing Rodimus to lean forward, and presses his other hand on Rodimus’ hip to slow him.

“Not all at once,” Megatron says. His husky voice betrays his lack of composure.

Rodimus continues to bounce despite Megatron’s words, despite what little control he holds on the situation. “Come on, old man, you can’t be done yet!”

Megatron yanks the leash harder, choking off another stream of Rodimus’ words, forcing him to lay flat against Megatron’s chest. Then he controls the rhythm, hips thrusting upward in time with his hand on Rodimus’ hip pushing him down. He clutches Rodimus to his chest, fingers digging into his spoiler, and Rodimus cries his name against his neck amidst pants.

“Megatron, I’m gonna--oh!” Rodimus arches against Megatron, but nothing slows, nothing stops. His valve squeezes around Megatron’s spike, and more lubricant gushes from Rodimus’ valve as he overloads, his body jerking with a static charge that rocks even Megatron’s frame.

Megatron continues, his own overload coming fast. “You’re gonna break me,” Rodimus mutters. Megatron tugs at the leash, pulling Rodimus’ face towards his, and looking him in the eyes as he pumps at the sticky, hot valve.

And just as it comes, just as Megatron feels himself at the peak of his overload, he does something the two of them have never done, not once in their several sessions since that first time on the bridge--he presses his lips against Rodimus’ and kisses him as he spills his own fluid into the smaller bot.

Their lips stay locked together until Megatron’s shudders subside. And even then, when they pull apart, Rodimus stares at him like he no longer knows Megatron. But he doesn’t comment. Doesn’t ask the question that hovers between them, though they both know something has changed.

That this--this fragging thing--has somehow become more than something to pass the time, to blow off steam, as Megatron initially thought of it.

Megatron doesn’t know what to say, so he waits for his chattier partner to speak. “One day you’re gonna break me,” he says, pressing his forehead against Megatron’s chest plate.

“Would you complain about that?” Megatron asks as Rodimus slides from his lap, disentangling from his co-captain.

“No,” Rodimus says, lying down next to Megatron. Like usual, he will bide his time until his legs have stopped shaking before he cleans himself up and leaves. “I just wonder what the medics would say.”

“Probably, ‘What did you shove in yourself _this_ time?’” Megatron says.

Rodimus tosses his head back and barks a laugh. “You’re getting better at this joking thing.” He pats Megatron’s chest plate before he slips from the berth, leaving Megatron alone. He starts to clean himself off, and Megatron pulls his lips into a thin line.

He doesn’t say it, but he misses Rodimus’ warmth at his side as soon as he is gone.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours--if you’ll be ready for me then, old man?” Rodimus winks as he walks to the door.

Megatron scoffs. “Take as much or as little time as you want,” he says. 

Rodimus disappears through the door. Megatron clenches his hand into a fist.

_You should’ve asked him to stay,_ he thinks. And then, _Don’t be foolish. What he is to you is not what you are to him._

Megatron thinks about cleaning up, but then slams his head back against his berth.


End file.
